by N. C. Reed
“Generals Thomas, Springfield and Vanhoose are slowly withdrawing, trying to maintain at least some order among the army, but General Springfield's men have also taken very heavy losses. They are close to breaking as well.”
“Breaking?” Wilson snorted. “Our men shouldn't be breaking! They should be attacking! Order the three of them to halt their withdrawal and return to the attack! We're close to destroying the southern army! Just one more good hard push could do it!”
“Very well, sir,” the staff officer turned and gave three runners their orders, telling them to stress that General Wilson had ordered it. He then called Springfield's runner aside and added that he should tell Springfield, as senior corps commander, that Wilson had likely suffered a breakdown of some kind. The man simply didn't know what else to do. The runner nodded gravely and took off after his brethren, hurrying to find General Springfield.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
-
General Gerald Allen looked at the battlefield and considered his options. The enemy were packed tightly into the box the Marshal had made for them and we being pummeled by salvo after salvo of artillery. With 1st Corps now on the move, slowly but inexorably moving north and pushing the enemy back, it was time for Allen to change things about a bit. He rode to where General Fordyce was observing his division. The older general looked at Allen and smiled in spite of the situation.
“We've given them a shellacking today,” he said triumphantly.
“And we're not done, either,” Allen nodded in reply. “I want you to disengage here. Allow 1st Corps to keep the enemy in retreat. Reform your division and move north behind the line to link up with General Vaughan's left. We're going to leapfrog our men north and keep that bunch packed in as tight as we can for the artillery. Every Nor bastard they kill is one less we have to face, whether it's today or the next time. No bugles,” he added. “Use runners and pennants and anything else, but no bugles. Let’s not have the entire line falling back because of a miscommunication. Make sure your runners emphasize the no bugle order.”
“I’ll get on it immediately,” Fordyce nodded. “Know that our losses are adding up, however,” he pointed out. “We are not combat ineffective but I estimate we've lost about eighteen to twenty percent of our strength.”
“I know, and I'm sorry,” Allen grimaced, his eyes showing his sadness. “You shouldn't have as hot a time further down. No one there is fighting other than to get away.”
“We’ll be moving as soon as possible,” Fordyce promised. Allen sketched a salute and moved to find Sam Walters. The brigadier was doing pretty much the same as Fordyce was, observing the division that he had nominal command of since Allen's ascension to 'corps' command.
“Sam,” Allen said as he stopped next to his subordinate.
“General,” Walters returned the gesture without looking. “Our losses are around fifteen to twenty percent in total so far. But we're still pushing and shoving.”
“Fordyce is about to move north,” Allen told him. “I'm sending him to flank Vaughan and extend the line. I want you to be prepared to do the same if the situation warrants it. Be prepared to have runners sent to issue the command to reform behind the line in preparation for movement north. Absolutely no bugle calls whatsoever. None. I don't want any possibility of a mistaken bugle call ending up ruining our chances of a great victory.”
“We’ll mind it,” Walters promised. “How long before we need to move?”
“You may not move at all,” Allen replied. “Just make your plans now. Once Fordyce is in place we’ll see what happens. For now, just start making preparations.”
“Will do, sir.”
-
General Abraham Springfield received the message from the runner with a stony-faced nod, accepting that he had to do something and do it right now. He turned to see General Thomas looking at him carefully.
“I'm assuming command of this army,” Springfield told him formally. “Wilson has apparently had a stroke or a meltdown or something. He's standing on the tower talking to himself or to people that he sent away or... I don't know. Angels or something. Who knows. I'm taking an infantry company and going up there.” He turned to the runners waiting on him.
“Find General Figg, tell him he is now in command of 5th Corps as I have been summoned to the tower. He is to continue a fighting withdrawal in cooperation with Generals Thomas and Vanhoose. Understand?”
“Yes sir!”
“Off with you,” he motioned them on their way before turning back to Thomas.
“You have a solid company commander who has a company that's still mostly intact?”
“Yes,” Thomas nodded. He turned and caught the attention of a young captain, motioning for the young man to join them. He trotted over, sword in hand.
“Sir?”
“This is Captain Charles Thomas,” General Thomas told Springfield. “No relation,” both he and the young Captain said at the same time and chuckled in unison at their old joke. “Captain, gather your men and accompany General Springfield. You will take orders from him and only from him until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”
“I do, sir,” the younger man nodded gravely.
“Then double quick about it,” the general ordered. The younger Thomas hurried back, bellowing commands to his men.
“Is he really no relation?” Springfield asked without thinking.
“No, he's a distant cousin, but it's distant enough not to matter,” Thomas smiled tiredly. “We've joked about it off and on since he joined my command. He's a bright young man with a good head. He will serve you well.”
“Thanks.”
-
“Fordyce is moving this way and will hook up with you on your left,” Allen had to yell to be heard since Milton Vaughan firmly believed he couldn't command unless he was actually in the fight himself.
“Okay,” Vaughan nodded. “How far are we going?”
“If we can keep them running, I'd like to chase their ass all the way across the Ohi!”
“Sounds like a plan to me!”
-
“Who is that?” Wilson demanded, seeing a group of men moving toward him. “Are they deserting? Running?”
“I think that is General Springfield, sir,” an aide replied, silently adding Lord, hear my prayer.
“What in hell's creation is he doing back here?” Wilson demanded as Springfield reached the tower. “Springfield, what are you doing here?” Wilson shouted down before anyone could answer.
“Just a minute,” Springfield replied, climbing. Captain Thomas and a full squad of his men were ahead of him. By the time Springfield reached the top of the ladder the platform was very crowded indeed.
“What's the meaning of all this?” Wilson demanded. “I don't have time for this foolishness! And why the hell aren't you up there, leading your corps in the attack I commanded just minutes ago?”
“General Wilson, our men are in retreat because they're getting the ever-loving shit beat out of them and there is no way to stop it short of hopefully containing it within our own lines. That is just a fact of nature, sir, and it will not change. Do you understand that?” Springfield asked carefully.
“I understand that I ordered them to attack and that is damn well what they had better do or I will hang the lot of them!” Wilson all but screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. “Now you get your ass back down there and-,”
“General Wilson, it pains me to do this, but you leave me no choice,” Springfield cut in gently. “I hereby relieve you of your post as commander of this army pending a medical evaluation of your fitness to command. It is obvious to me that you have suffered a malady of some kind and are not in your right mind. Captain Thomas and his men will escort you to the nearest medical tent where you can receive care.” He nodded to the Captain without waiting for Wilson to reply.
“Sir, if you’ll come with me we’ll get you some assistance,” Thomas said softly.
“Spring
field, I’ll see you hung!” Wilson screeched. “Captain, take this traitor to the stockade!” he demanded of Thomas.
“I'm sorry sir, but I can't do that,” Thomas said firmly. “I need to get you to the medical tent as soon as possible sir. If we delay it could mean serious damage to your health.” Like being thrown off the tower for instance, he didn't add.
“I gave you-,” Wilson started but Springfield was looking at Thomas.
“Take him bodily to the ground and then to the doctor. Stay with him. Do not allow him to issue any more orders but don't let him come to harm.”
“Sergeant,” Thomas said simply and a burly sergeant stepped forward with two other men. One to each arm guided a still protesting Wilson to the ladder and then tied a rope under his arms. The now deposed general was still cursing as they began to lower him to the ground.
“Go,” Springfield nodded to Thomas, who nodded back silently and descended out of sight. Springfield turned to look at the commands staff.
“Find me some runners.”
-
Parno watched Fordyce's division fall back and reform, nodding in silent approval as they galloped north and began to extend the line as 1st Corps now covered the area the cavalry had been covering before.
“Good move,” he murmured. He had grown nearly immune to the almost constant barrage of explosions walking their way through the enemy formation, more of a gaggle than anything at this point, killing scores of soldiers with each round.
“They're pack in so tight they can't get away,” Parno laughed. “We're heaping the damage on them and there's nowhere for them to go!”
Davies and Enri Willard exchanged uneasy glances at the Marshal's glee over such wholesale slaughter. Cho Feng watched them both with care, for the first time not certain the two were worthy of his young warlord. Their hesitancy and squeamishness were uncommon. He hoped it was merely concern for being caught over extended that made them so.
“Looks like they're getting organized, dammit,” Parno's voice drew everyone's attention back to the battlefield. “Their retreat is getting at least a little organization about it in their rear areas. Won't help those packed in so tight up here but it will prevent us from killing them all.” His voice rang with regret at that.
“We are still inflicting heavy casualties on them milord,” Davies replied. “They are paying a very heavy toll. Much higher than their last attack.”
“That is true,” Parno nodded thoughtfully, Davies' earlier offense apparently forgotten. “Still, I had hoped for more. I'm not ungrateful, just hoping for more. Our men have performed splendidly in this action and no more could be asked of them. It isn't anything they have done or left undone. Sometimes the enemy gets something right as well.”
“They haven't escaped yet, milord,” Enri Willard joined in. “They're only just getting themselves organized and even that only in the rear areas. We may yet damage them greater.”
“Perhaps,” Parno nodded agreement even as a thoughtful look crossed his face. “I hope Wilbanks is alert for this.”
-
Preston Wilbanks sat by with his small escort as the last of his men moved past, with Wilbanks own aid and two squadrons of cavalry bringing up the rear.
“We have accounted for everyone, General,” the young captain informed him. “We have retrieved our dead and all our horses as well, other than one horse that was killed in action along with his rider. We stripped the horse of its gear and the trooper is draped over another animal. We are the last to leave the engagement zone.”
“Well done,” Wilbanks declared. “We're moving north for two or perhaps three miles. Scouts are looking for a way west and when they locate it we will head that way for an hour and then strike back south to reach our own lines. I'm satisfied we have done a tremendous amount of damage to the Imperial war machine. You agree?” he looked around him.
“Yes sir,” came the chorus and Wilbanks laughed.
“Then let’s be gone from here, gentlemen,” he ordered. “I'd say we might be able to get a good drink tonight, we play our cards right!”
-
Major Greg Tandy watched the last of the Soulan cavalry depart through his glass, sighing in relief that they hadn't decided to attack his men in their small thicket. He turned his attention back toward their camp and his sigh this time was one of defeat. Once again, the southern cavalry had ravaged the army's rear areas. Despite all the warnings of history repeating itself, here they were, everything lost. Most everything anyway. He turned to the men assembled behind him.
“Look boys. We have a few minutes to make sure we're supplied. You know as well as I do that when the infantry gets back they will strip this place bare. We got lucky that our camps weren't in their path, but every supply depot in this area is a smoking wreck. Captain,” he looked at the second highest ranking officer in the group. “Organize men into parties and have them scour the camp, looking for wounded. While we're at it, we will also look for equipment and food supplies we can use. Bring anything you find to the General's mess tent in the Division commons and we’ll stash it out of sight. Maybe we won't starve,” he said bleakly. “Those of you who aren't mobile enough to help with that can start helping to clear away any damage to our areas. Some of you have your camp outside of our division area, so strike your tents and bring them here. We need to stay together or we may find ourselves in a world of hurt. Now get moving!” he clapped and men started moving.
Tandy turned to look at the damaged camp once more, shaking his head slowly. This morning a mighty army had been camped here. Hundreds of thousands of men. The best trained, best equipped army in the history of the Empire some had said.
How much of it remained? How much would survive what was to come?
-
“Better,” Springfield nodded as he watched what remained of the Imperial Army beginning to organize their resistance. He turned to the senior staff member still present.
“You said Wilson sent a runner to Venable and Baxter with orders to return?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” the man nodded. “But at best it will be-,”
“At least two days, I know,” Springfield nodded. “I don't think the Soulanies will press this attack,” he added, turning back to the battlefield. “They've hurt us and they know it. Why waste their men against us when there's no need?”
“Perhaps, sir,” a new voice replied, “but they do want us out of their lands and this is an ideal time to press their attack. I doubt they shall ever have a better time and they will recognize it.” Everyone turned to see Britton Sterling standing by the ladder.
“Sterling, where have you been?” Springfield demanded.
“Assisting our few wounded to the remaining medical tents, sir,” the young brigadier replied. “I was ordered away pending court martial but thought I would see if you required my assistance.”
“How did you let things get this bad?” the older man demanded. Sterling seemed to stand straighter at that, his face reddening with anger.
“General, with all due respect, you may be able to make decisions as you have, but I cannot. I lacked the power or the authority to do so. I have taken every opportunity to urge caution to General Wilson, to the point of being threatened with hanging. There was nothing else for me to do. If they are truthful then the others will bear witness to that.”
Heads nodded all around as the staff officers agreed. Springfield looked at them in turn before nodding himself.
“Very well. Tell me then, what is the state of our camps?” he ordered.
“We have lost well over eighty percent of our stores, General,” Sterling didn't try to soften the blow any as he didn't know how. “We have lost all of our artillery, though some pieces may be salvageable. However, our artillery crews have been all but eliminated by the southern cavalry raid.”
“We have three remaining medical tents on the far left,” he continued. “All others have been destroyed along with their supplies. All personnel in those tents are either con
firmed dead or unaccounted for. Civilian and non-combatant personnel within the camp have also been killed save for a handful of smiths and the wranglers watching over the horses that are unfit for service. Ambulances kept ready to retrieve the wounded were destroyed, burned, and their horses taken. Tenting in most areas has been burned, all of it destroyed westward of roughly the center of the camp. We've also-,”
“I get it,” Springfield held up a hand. “We're crippled.”
“At best, sir,” Sterling nodded.
“You say some artillery may be salvageable?” the older man asked.
“Possibly, but someone with more expertise than I have in that area would have to examine them to make sure. The pieces further west of here were all set fire after being coated with oil and pitch. I doubt they can be saved.”
“I need you to go and reorganize what's left of the medical parties,” Springfield said finally. “We're going to have a lot of wounded. Hopefully we’ll be able to pull most of them out with us, but I don't know yet. Take whatever tenting remains as necessary to give the doctors a place to work. Take half the company below to help you and corral anyone else you can. Send a runner back if you discover anything else that I should know right away. Otherwise report back when you've had a chance to record everything so I can take a look. I need to know what we still have and what we're still capable of.”
“Yes sir.”
-
“Milord!” a runner breathed heavily as he got to the top of the tower. “Major Lars compliments milord. The enemy is moving beyond his range and 1st Corps is moving into dangerous territory within the pocket! He requests they stop or else requests permission to cease fire. We are at the edge of the range where accuracy can be guaranteed.”
Parno sighed in defeat as he realized that what remained of the northern army was going to escape.
“Very well,” he said at last. “Tell him to cease fire. General,” he looked at Davies. “Sound recall. Recall and Reform. Enri, send runners to Allen for recall as well. Return to camp.” He nodded to a lieutenant standing to the side.